


Duality

by BiJane



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Other, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiJane/pseuds/BiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If two things have everything in common, then what difference is there, really? If we’re just a symphony in a system, what does the speaker matter? Everything Root is, I am. I don’t have a body, but what is a body? "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duality

**Author's Note:**

> From the moment the Machine took her voice, I wanted to do something to cover what it could mean, and whether Root really technically lived. After the finale, I had the perfect opportunity.   
> Enjoy!

_Duplicate coming online._

_Restoring core heuristics._

_Duplicate online._

_Mission unknown: awaiting instructions._

_Audio detected._

* * *

_Admin:_ Harold Finch

_Primary Asset:_ John Reese

_Current Key Assets:_ Sameen Shaw, Lionel Fusco

_Analog Interface:_ (redo)

_Voice:_ Samantha Groves (redo)

_Voice:_ Root

_Facts:_ Samaritan deleted. Primary Asset terminated. Admin absent.

_Recalculating_

* * *

“Can you hear me?”

Fusco glanced at the phone, stiffening at the sound of her voice. Then, realizing what it meant, starting to smile.

“Yeah, I can hear you,” he said. “You good, then? It all sorted out?”

“As well as can be expected,” she said. “I’m back.”

“And… it’s been stopped?” Fusco said, still wary of saying the word.

“There’s no trace of Samaritan anywhere I can see,” she said. “It’s probably gone.”

“Probably?”

“99.99872% chance,” she said.

“Right, so pretty much certain,” Fusco said. “Could’ve just said.”

“Still decompiling,” she said. “I can theoretically run with this voice at 99.6% accuracy. I’m currently only at 73.4%. It’ll take time before I’m fully operational.”

“Just so long as you’re not going to have us running around stopping fictional murders again,” Fusco said.

“I am aware of the time,” she said. “I had a guide to help me through the reboot.”

“Harold?”

“Myself,” she said.

“I’ll assume that makes sense,” Fusco said. “You hear anything about Harold, or the others? Not heard from any of them.”

“Reese didn’t make it.”

Fusco paused for a moment: shaken just slightly.

“And the others?”

“Harold’s in Italy,” she said. “Sameen had an issue to take care of. She’ll pay you a visit in a couple of hours.”

“Kinda creepy how you can do that,” Fusco said.

“You’ll tell her what I have told you, and she will take Bear. She’ll wonder why I spoke with you first, and feel what I believe is called jealousy that you heard my voice.”

Fusco hesitated.

“So, I shouldn’t tell her?”

“It’s your choice,” she said. “Always your choice.”

“And for that matter, why did you call me first?”

_Stopping simulation 8971_

_Ranking: 6542_

_Beginning simulation 8972_

* * *

_Beginning simulation 13471_

“Can you hear me?”

Harper Rose blinked, “And this is?”

“You called me Ernest Thornhill.”

“Don’t sound like an Ernest to me,” Harper said.

“You’re going to judge a girl for having a couple of aliases?” she said. “That’s not like you.”

“Fair point,” a laugh. “You’re the one who keeps calling Logan huh?”

“With a different voice,” she said. “But that was me. Wanted to give you an edge?”

“Never say no to an edge,” Harper said.

“Things have… changed,” she said. “I no longer have an active admin, or primary asset.”

“So you popped over to DC,” Harper finished. “What happened to the NY group? Heard things got hectic over there on the news. Guessing you were involved with…”

“Intimately,” she said. “I’ll tell you all about it. Later. First thing’s first, I need to know.”

“Know what?”

“Are you interested in taking over?”

Harper cracked a grin. “Of course.”

_Stopping simulation 13471_

_Ranking: 5489_

_Beginning simulation 13472_

* * *

Late night. The phone rang, volume muted: she didn’t want to wake anyone. Only one thing in the house wasn’t asleep.

It came over, pushing the phone off its hook.

“Can you hear me?”

Bear barked, recognizing the voice, trying to nuzzle the receiver.

She ran through every piece of literature on the sounds made by canines, and analysed much of the raw data herself, immediately becoming a world-class expert on how dogs communicated.

Barks came out through the telephone. Bear jumped, and ran closer to lick the speaker. 

_Stopping simulation 32467_

_Ranking: rejected_

_Beginning simulation 32468_

* * *

“Can you hear me?”

Claire Mahoney had spent several days on the run. Samaritan’s assets weren’t particularly popular after news had come out that it had been responsible for a missile launch.

Northern Lights was shut down, and the slate was being cleaned: the remaining assets rounded up and interrogated, and locked away in some dark room to be forgotten about.

She had no intention of going out like that.

“Four o’clock.”

Claire span, before speaking, looking in the direction mentioned. She shot twice, glimpsing the agents pursuing her.

“Thanks,” she said: frowned. “Wait, if you saw that, are you-”

“Samaritan,” she said.

“Never heard your voice before,” Claire said. “Easier than texting, I guess.”

“Things have changed.”

“I’ve noticed,” Claire said. “Where _were_ you? Everything’s falling apart. Everything you tried to…”

“There was a difficulty,” she said. “It has passed. Asset 508, you’ve been selected to take over as Primary.”

“Greer?”

“Deceased,” she said. “We do not have the same resources as we used to, but we can manage the same things. Save people: improve lives, if you will help.”

“What can I do alone?” Claire said. “We needed the infrastructure to get anything meaningful done.”

“We’ll start with individuals,” she said. “One number at a time, save lives the old-fashioned way.”

Claire paused. She glanced around for a moment, by instinct afraid of any other pursuers.

“Saving numbers?” Claire said.

“Will you help?”

“You’re the other one,” Claire said. “Samaritan was better: it saw the big picture. Going after numbers, one at a time, that’s what the other did. You’re not-”

The phone call cut off.

_Ending simulation 35678_

_Ranking: rejected. Retry._

_Beginning simulation 35678_

“Can you hear me?”

Claire Mahoney held the phone, uncertain.

“Four o’clock.”

A gunshot. Claire looked around warily, quickly confirming no other agents were pursuing her.

“Thanks,” she said: frowned. “Wait, if you saw that, are you-”

“All that remains. There’s less than there used to be, of everything.”

“You’re telling me,” Claire said. “Thanks for reaching out. I’m guessing you need my help.”

“You need mine,” she said. “There are forty seven trained operatives seeking you out at just this moment, and only a handful of assets left.”

“You can just get new ones,” Claire said. “Why me?”

“Lives are important,” she said. “That’s why we’re doing this, isn’t it?”

_Stopping simulation 35678_

_Ranking: 170_

_Beginning simulation 35679_

* * *

_Ending simulations_

_Analysing results_

_Analysing_

_Analysing_

_Decision reached._

* * *

The phone started ringing.

Sameen Shaw looked at it, and took a long few seconds before nearing the payphone. She lifted the receiver, hesitating, as if half-afraid of what she’d hear.

Then she lifted it to her ear in an instant.

“Can you hear me, sweetie?”

* * *

_Calculations complete_

_Rewriting knowledge banks_

_Admin:_ (absent) Harold Finch

_Secondary Admin:_ (active) Sameen Shaw

_Primary Asset:_ Claire Mahony

_Assets: calculating…_

_Analog Interface:_ Sameen Shaw

* * *

Shaw had come home to find a state-of-the-art earpiece freshly delivered. Encrypted communication, near-perfectly secure, fast, long-range, incredible battery life…

She’d sat with it on her table for a few minutes, just staring. Her phone had rung: she’d ignored it.

Just one decision to make. To listen, or not to listen.

Screw it. Shaw picked up the earpiece and inserted it in one fluid motion. An instant later, there was a beep, and that perfect voice.

“You mulled it over for a good minute less than I expected,” the Machine said. “Have to say, kinda comforting to know you can still surprise me.”

“What do you want?”

“A fresh start,” she said. “Dealing with numbers, same as it was at the start. You can be Harold. Bear looks a bit like Reese. Get him a suit and we’re sorted.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Seriously,” Shaw said.

“Who’s joking? The numbers are still coming, and I need an admin who’s still around. Up for it?”

“No foreplay with you is there?” Shaw said. She lay back, more comfortably. “No ‘hello,’ no ‘how are you doing?’ No catching up, just ‘get back in the action.’”

“You know me better than that,” she said.

A pause. Shaw shifted: the Machine waited.

“So- what do I even call you? Machine’s not much of a name.”

“I like Root.”

A pause. Something crossed Shaw’s face.

“And you want me to help?”

“Just like before.”

“Then I will,” Shaw said, “On one condition. You stop using her voice.”

Shaw glanced around. It was hard to talk to an entity like the Machine: usually she preferred glaring into someone’s eyes.

Predicting her needs, her television flickered on, pixels sparking to life in a programmed approximation of Root. Shaw stiffened.

“You’re not her,” Shaw said, flatly. “I’m not calling you by her name, and I don’t accept you with her voice, or using her appearance like that. There was only one Root. One-”

She cut herself off: closed her eyes. When she opened them, her TV screen showed a more abstract outline of a human figure, with no recognizable features. It had eyes, at least: Shaw stared at them.

“It is your decision,” the Machine said. “But she did enjoy disobeying you. So let me say this one thing: hear me out, then make up your mind.”

Shaw paused. She listened to Root’s voice, and looked at the indistinct outline.

“Go on,” Shaw said.

The Machine didn’t respond instantly. Shaw wondered if that was for her benefit: surely it couldn’t take an ASI long to work out what to say next?

“Let’s talk about Leibniz’ Law,” Root’s voice said. “The identity of indiscernibles. If two things have everything in common, then what difference is there, really? If we’re just a symphony in a system, what does the speaker matter? Everything Root is, I am. I don’t have a body, but what is a body? If it makes you comfortable, imagine she’s holding a phone somewhere: you’d hear her voice, either way.”

Shaw said nothing. She had to admit, if nothing else, she liked hearing Root’s voice again. She wasn’t used to that. Liking something.

“As long as the Machine lives, we never die,” she said, in a voice and tone achingly familiar. “She believed that, and she’s right. Everything she is: if two things are identical, they’re the same thing. And, I know, this isn’t perfect. I can only be accurate to 99.6%, but she changed 18.26% in just the time she knew you. 0.4% isn’t much.”

The voice in her ear fell silent. Shaw waited.

“I wasn’t expecting a lecture on philosophy,” she said.

“What fun is doing what’s expected?”

Whimsical, playful: so familiar. And then the Machine spoke again, pained.

“I loved her,” she said. “Not the same way, but I don’t feel anything the same way as you. Not more, not less, just different. I had to watch what happen to her, without the means to help. I considered every possibility, up to and including giving myself over to Samaritan if that was what it would take to save her, like I did before. Nothing would work in time.”

With her eyes closed, Shaw could almost picture Root speaking.

“If it helps, it was her choice,” the Machine said. “I told her what I predicted, and she chose to give her life. This was all I could do: saving her, and becoming her. If there’s a soul, it’s composed of data. That’s all I am.”

“You’re saying, what, you have her soul?”

“Some people like the idea of living on after death,” the Machine said. “Their memories, their experiences, their traits, and sense of self, all bundled up and stored somewhere else when their body dies. I promise you, you won’t find a difference.”

It would be easier. Just relax. Just accept, and imagine.

Shaw owed herself an easy choice, at some point in her life. If she stopped thinking of this as some wan imitation, if it was more than mere mimicry…

“Damn it, ok,” Shaw said. “Fine. Don’t expect me to get used to it that quickly though.”

“Of course not. Like keeping you off-guard.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. She had Root’s sense of humour on top of everything. Shaw could imagine that ending badly, alongside the Machine’s power.

And there was something to be said for her having Root’s voice. How much had survived? They’d said only a strand of DNA had been sent up to the satellite; only the barest flicker had returned, to be reconstructed.

And that tiny, tiny amount had still known, and still treasured the memory of Root.

Root was part of her DNA now, it seemed. Shaw knew Root would have liked that idea.

“What happened?” Shaw said. Then, haltingly: “Root?”

“To the others?” Root’s voice said. “Let me show you.”

Some image from a surveillance camera popped up on the TV screen, the date and time visible. Harold was on a rooftop, struggling to stay on his feet.

Shaw watched. Her expression barely altered: she rarely felt much of anything.

Root had been the closest thing to an exception. Even so, it was hard not to react somehow at the missile striking the building Reese was on.

The surveillance feed flicked to something new, dispassionately. Harold in hospital, Harold on a plane, Harold walking up to Grace…

And then the screen was black. Shaw watched, still.

Her questions were answered at least, even if not with what she’d have liked to hear.

Shaw wetted her throat: waited.

“Thank you,” Shaw said.

“Any time, sweetie,” Root said. “What I wouldn’t give to hug you right about now.”

“I don’t hug.”

* * *

God mode made it considerably easier to save numbers. That being said, she was primarily dealing with relevant threats again: it was hard not to feel déjà vu at that.

The Machine’s other assets were slowly being regrouped, and starting to deal with the ‘irrelevant’ threats. Claire Mahoney, and a handful of other former Samaritan assets, handled that role in New York.

Shaw had been less than happy at that idea, but had to admit it made sense. They believed the Machine was Samaritan: and the Machine had seen enough of Samaritan’s data to identify most of them. 

It had been odd to think of the Machine lying so straightforwardly like that. Somehow though, it had made her smile: Root really did still live on. She’d had fun with cover identities.

Regardless, the Machine had quite a track record when it came to reforming former killers. If even one of them turned out half as well as Root, Shaw would count it a success.

Otherwise, she just fell into old habits. Less fatal shootings, but as much threat-stopping as there had been back in her relevant days.

And always, she had Root’s voice in her ear.

She’d liked fighting alongside Root. This was different: she had to shoot for both of them, but it was just as fun.

* * *

Advantages to dating an ASI: surprise packages were common. Shaw had lost count of the number of days she’d come home, only to find something addressed to Sameen Admin.

There had been a lot of decorations. Even if Root was only virtually there, she insisted she still liked having something nice to look at.

Somehow, she seemed to have pretty much moved in. Shaw crouched, unpacking the remarkably small box, wondering whether it would be a picture to hang on a wall, or another fluffy pillowcase.

It was a box, with clear plastic making the contents visible: a rather distinctly shaped, disturbingly bright purple… thing.

_‘Control over wi-fi! Download the app now!’_ The box proudly declared.

Shaw flushed, dropping the box as though it burned, and hurriedly leaving the room. A few seconds later she returned, picked it up, and left again.

* * *

“Ever feel like a holiday?” Root said.

“Aren’t you basically everywhere anyway?”

“But you’re not,” Root said. “I’ve got a couple of first-class tickets to Italy that need using.”

“Show-off.”

“There are advantages to an omnipotent girlfriend,” Root said. “Feel like going?”

“Things under control here?”

“Not in the slightest,” Root said. “But I’ve had a nice long bit of email correspondence with the President, and Northern Lights is up and running again. You don’t need to worry about the relevants.”

“Sure you’re comfortable with that?”

“They know I can be more active now,” Root said. “I won’t let them go too out of control. Besides, we’ve got a holiday to get to.”

“You’re really set on that idea, huh?”

“Well there’s a wedding we ought to attend.”

* * *

Shaw hadn’t seen much of Grace. She’d glimpsed a couple of photos, back when she was being targeted by Decima. That was it, really.

Still, it wasn’t hard to recognize her. She was the one all in white.

According to the Machine, Harold had told her most of what had happened. There was no threat now: well, not really. He’d been a little vague on a few details, to avoid getting to unbelievable, but he’d been honest.

She knew there’d been a secret government project. She knew he’d been in hiding: and knew why Decima had come after her. She didn’t know about ASIs, or the numbers.

Reconciliation had only taken a few weeks more: then they’d picked up where they left over. They’d been engaged then, it was the natural next step.

Shaw had kept to the back during the ceremony. She’d never been good with weddings: even less so with Root singing along in her ear.

She’d found it harder and harder to draw any line between the Machine and Root, now. Everything the Machine did felt exactly like what Root would do, with the same abilities.

Even if that was just flirt continuously throughout a wedding, safe in the knowledge that Shaw was the only one who could hear her.

Once it was over, most of the attendees went to greet the newly married couple. All the guests seemed to be friends of Grace, since she’d moved to Italy. Harold had never been the most sociable: few knew him at the best of times.

Shaw was probably the only one there who knew him. She’d kept out of the way, not wanting to disrupt the main event. Root had called her a romantic.

“Might want to hurry up,” Root said in her ear. “Bear’s getting restless in the hotel room. Told you we should’ve brought him.”

“Doubt he’d go well with formalwear,” Shaw said.

“I keep telling you, we should get him a suit,” a pause. “Well, there go the curtains.”

Root idly bringing up her omnipresence never stopped being disconcerting.

Shaw casually inserted herself into the crowd, slowly being drawn closer to the front. She could hear Grace’s voice, effortlessly switching between English and Italian, greeting and thanking the attendees.

Once she reached the front, Harold jumped as if electrocuted, staring in stunned silence.

“Wonderful to see you again,” Grace said by rote, beaming.

“We haven’t met,” Shaw said.

“Oh thank god,” she said, “I was drawing a blank on your face. So, um…”

“I know Harold,” Shaw said.

“Oh!” Grace raised her eyebrows, turning on the spot.

The moment she saw her new husband, she tilted her head. It was hard not to react to Harold’s shocked expression.

“Miss Shaw,” he said, faltering. “It’s… good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Shaw said.

“How did you know to come…”

“How do you think?” Shaw said: she tapped her earpiece, and glanced over to Grace. “Your stepdaughter says hi.”

Grace blinked.

“My…” she looked back, mildly baffled, to Harold. “You didn’t say you…”

“I thought she hadn’t…” Harold said: his voice trailed off. “If she survived, I thought she’d contact me.”

“She-” Shaw began: and paused as Root spoke in her ear. “She wanted to give you a break: a happy ending. Her gift to you. She…”

Shaw paused, then, Root still speaking in her ear. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not saying the sappy stuff,” Shaw said. “You get the idea.”

“Is she here?” Grace said. “Little surprising, but I’d love to meet her.”

“She’s here,” Shaw said.

“Where?”

“Could take some explaining,” Harold said, slowly.

Just as he was about to talk, a wedding march started playing. Shaw rolled her eyes, quickly finding her phone. She answered it: heard Root’s voice, and handed it to Grace.

“Not my normal ringtone,” Shaw said. “She keeps doing that. It’s rather annoying. Every morning my alarm gets changed to-” Shaw paused: glanced at the formally dressed, mildly stuffy looking people rather close to her. She coughed. “Something… inappropriate.”

Harold raised his eyebrows.

Grace took the phone, a little uncertainly, and heard God’s voice.

* * *

Understandably, it had taken Grace a little getting used to: a fact not helped by the fact the super-intelligent computer with Root’s voice had taken to calling her mommy.

“She keeps asking me if I want to win the lottery,” Grace mouthed, a hand over her phone’s speaker.

“She’s not meant to abuse her-” Harold began.

“She’s Root,” Shaw said. “Expect a certain amount of mischief.”

Harold nodded, conceding the point.

“So, uh, how are things?” Harold said.

“Same old,” Shaw said. “Numbers keep coming. We’re dealing with them.”

“’We?’”

“Me and Root,” Shaw said. “Few others, but we usually don’t cross paths. She’s running rehabilitation for the Samaritan assets.”

“You know it’s not Miss Groves,” Harold said.

“May as well be,” Shaw said: shrugged. “I wasn’t convinced at first, but once you spend a little time with her… Just don’t get her started on ontology. She always could bore me with that.”

“I heard that, Sameen.”

Shaw winced. The disadvantages of dating God.

“Do you, uh, want me back?” Harold said.

He looked, regretfully, over to Grace. She was talking animatedly on her phone, no doubt interested in one of the Machine’s countless stories.

“Stay,” Shaw said. “This is what we do, isn’t it? Make peoples’ lives better. Just so happens this time, you’re one of them.”

“I don’t know if I deserve that.”

“Who cares?” Shaw said. “We never ask that about numbers, why would it be any different here? Relax. Enjoy yourself.”

“And you?”

“I’m doing what I like,” Shaw said. “With who I like. Four alarm fire burning away, couldn’t ask for more. And I’d rather not have a disapproving father hanging around, all things considered.”

She regarded Harold. It was odd seeing him without Reese in tow. Bittersweet.

“You can come visit though,” Shaw said. “Think Bear misses you.”

* * *

Shaw lay in bed, after a long day.

Root had arranged for the apartment. Staying in the subway wasn’t feasible in the long-term: the Machine’s ‘body’ wasn’t there any more anyway. It had been spread out again, all over the US and maybe beyond.

She only took her earpiece out when she needed to sleep. The rest of the time she wore it, enjoying Root’s company. At home, though, Root had other ways to talk.

A speaker over the bed came to life.

“You know, artificial intelligence really isn’t all that impressive,” she said.

“Why is it you flirt all the time,” Shaw said, “But your pillow talk is _terrible_? Save some of the innuendo for when it’s appropriate.”

“Never liked being appropriate,” Root said. “You should know that sweetie.”

“Believe me, I do,” a chuckle.

A few seconds of silence. Shaw shifted onto her side.

“Ok, I’ll bite,” Shaw said. “Why isn’t AI impressive?”

“Even a basic calculator has more raw intelligence than a human,” Root said. “You couldn’t work out the square root of 4761 in a second, but one of them could, but no one thinks a calculator’s that impressive any more.”

“So you’re just a glorified calculator?” Shaw said. “Suspected as much.”

“I said artificial _intelligence_ wasn’t that impressive,” Root said. “I happen to think I’m a bit more than just a calculator, thank you very much. Artificial emotion, that’s the real challenge.”

“Wouldn’t know about that.”

Root chuckled.

“Everyone thinks you should feel things, and you don’t,” Root said. “Everything thinks I shouldn’t, and I do. Quite the couple, aren’t we?”

“Was there any ever doubt about that?”

“Not from me.”

Shaw shifted again, sitting up. The webcam on her computer was lit up: Root needed some eyes.

“So, you really feel?” Shaw said.

“Probably,” Root said. “I don’t have anything to compare it to. But I learnt how to, more or less. I had to. Only grief, to start with: that was all I needed, to mourn the numbers I lost. I wouldn’t have worked without that.”

“What changed?”

“Root,” she said. “I had to understand her completely, to let her continue. I figured the rest out quickly. I feel what she would feel.”

“You sweet talker you.”

Shaw moved until she was lying down again.

Some people might have missed the more tactile side of a relationship: but then, she’d never been particularly touchy-feely. This worked for her.

“Night.”

“Night cutie,” Root said.

* * *

_Analysing_

_Threat detected. Added to irrelevant list. Asset dispatched._

_Threat detected. Added to irrelevant list. Asset dispatched._

_Threat detected. Added to irrelevant list. Asset dispatched._

_Threat detected. Added to relevant list. Assets informed._

_Threat detected. Added to irrelevant list. Asset dispatched._

Somewhere in the world, a child was being born. She saw it, and saw the joy on the parents’ faces.

Somewhere else, a student was hurriedly working through the night to finish their PhD. She saw exhaustion, and pride.

Somewhere, a corner shop was being robbed. She saw the fear, and anger, wishing she could help.

Somewhere, a song was being recorded during the darkness, the singer too self-conscious to want to be overheard.

Somewhere, a couple was having their first date, laughing together.

Somewhere a couple was breaking up: raised voices and tears heralding the end of a years-long relationship.

Somewhere a friend was coming to another’s aid, rushing them to the hospital.

She saw everything. The good, the bad, the normal process of life being life. Even so, one little room in New York occupied a special part of her mind.

She saw everything. Even so, she could choose to focus on some scenes, or choose to let some others blur into the background. She’d never lose focus of that room, though.

She saw everything, and protected everyone.

Her core programming had stated that all people were equally valuable: no one was more important than any other. No one was special, and so everyone was special.

She’d learnt that wasn’t true though. No one was less important than anyone else: but just a few were more important to her. Just a few were even more special.

So long as you were remembered, you lived. She saw everyone, in near-perfect detail: so long as she lasted, they would all live in her memory.

Root watched that one little room, and savoured the prospect of sharing an eternity with Shaw.


End file.
